


90 Degrees

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: When you're the main character, random shit tends to happen to you for no goddamn reason.





	90 Degrees

The water stunk, like old shoes and wet laundry that hasn't been set out to dry. There was also something floating on the top but it was too dark to see. Thursday considered that a blessing. The water was cold, not freezing, reaching up past his hips. Morse was just short enough to have the bottom of his tie drag on the water's surface.

The boy kept walking around the well, touching the walls, and looking up towards the opening. "I think I can climb it."

"This is not a hill, Morse," Thursday said. "That's a perfect ninety degree angle."

"The walls have enough grooves for foot holds. I think-"

He grabbed onto one stone and hauled himself up out of the water.

For a startling second Thursday actually thought getting out of this well was possible. Morse was young and strong, and the well was not as deep as it looked. It was quite possible for him to climb out of here and get help. But as Morse shifted his weight to grab onto the next stone, his footstone loosened and slipped out.

He fell, barely missing Thursday, his whole body submerging under the dark water. He immediately stood back up, hacking and coughing.

"Are you okay?" Thursday asked.

"I'm fine," Morse said unhappily. He spat out water as his wet hair stuck to the side of his face. "I'm fine."

"Jakes will be back soon," Thursday said. "We won't be here long."

 

 

 

 

 

Morse was shivering. His hair was still wet and his clothes hanged on him. He kept rubbing his arms, then his hands, blowing into them every few seconds. It didn't help his hands were still wet, and no amount of wringing was going to get them dry.

"Here," Thursday said, coming close.

"Huh?"

"My hands are dry. Here, give me your hands."

He didn't give Morse a chance to protest. He stepped forward and took Morse's hands, sandwiching them between his own. Good lord, they were cold. He rubbed them, then pressed his lips against them, blowing in hot air. "Now I wished I brought gloves."

"Wouldn't have mattered," Morse said. "You keep your gloves in your coat pocket. They would've got wet anyh-h-how."

The chattering teeth and the sudden stutter did not go unnoticed. Morse jumped as Thursday suddenly cupped his cheek. "Morse, you're freezing."

"I'm fine," he said, stepping away. He started blowing into his own hands.

"No, you're not. Those wet clothes aren't helping."

"Nothing I can do about it."

"Take off your jacket and shirt."

"Huh?"

Thursday shrugged off his own coat. The bottom of it was wet, but the majority was dry. "Take off your shirt, and put this on. C'mon, lad, don't fight me on this."

Slowly, Morse's hands came up and he shrugged off his suit jacket. He let it drop into the water, where it floated for a few seconds until the weight of it dragged it under. Taking his shirt off took longer. His trembling, cold fingers couldn't coordinate well enough to undo the buttons. Thursday would have stepped forward and helped, but this was too much of intimate act as is. He waited, allowing Morse to drop the shirt off, then quickly wrapped Morse in his own coat.

The relief on Morse's face was immediate. He pulled the coat closer around him, hunching down a bit to allow the collar to cover his neck.

Thursday looked up at the wall. By now Jakes should've reached the farmhouse. At this rate, they were going to freeze to death by the time he got back. "Alright, I think it's my turn to climb."

"No, sir, let me try again. I'm sure-"

Thursday grasped the first stone above his head. It felt solid, until he put weight on it.

The stone slab slid out, and the top portion fell right on Thursday's fingers, crushing them. With a cry he wrenched his hand back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. "God!" He hissed, holding his aching hand to his chest.

"Are you alright?" Morse asked.

"I... ugh, good god, I... I think broke something."

"Let me see..."

The pain was not going away. His fingers still felt like they were getting smashed. Slowly he pulled his arm down to look.

He was right. He broke his middle and ring finger. He was too old to recover from a wound like this. He was already suffering from arthritis. "Thank christ it was only my left hand," he gasped, bringing his hand back to his chest. His fingers burned hotly.

"We need to splint them." Said Morse.

"With what?"

Morse dug around inside of Thursday's coat pockets. He pulled out a pen and a handkerchief.

"Not so tight," Thursday breathed as Morse wrapped the handkerchief around his broken fingers. "God! Not so-!"

His hand was on Morse's shoulder, bracing himself. He was sure he was hurting Morse from the way his fingers dug in tightly, but Morse gave no indication he was in pain. His hand did not waver as he wrapped, trying off the ends of the handkerchief neatly. "There, that should hold till Jakes comes back."

It was a good splint. Thursday would've complimented Morse on a job well done, but the pain had already made its way to Thursday's brain, giving him a headache. It didn't help he hadn't eaten lunch yet. "I feel faint."

Morse pressed the back of his hand against Thursday's forehead. It felt condescending and with a grunt, Thursday jerked his head away.

"You don't feel warm," said Morse. "I don't think you're sick."

"You're the one with chattering teeth! Of course it's not me! I haven't eaten, is all."

Morse searched the coat pockets again. He pulled out one of Win's sandwiches.

Thursday couldn't help but snort. "What else do I have in there? A ladder, hopefully."

They split up the sandwich. Unfortunately Thursday could only eat a few bites of his. The pain of his fingers was too great for him to focus on the food, despite his hunger. He shoved the rest over to Morse and told him to finish it off.

"I'm not hungry either," he admitted, wrapping the rest. "I only ate because you told me to."

Thursday groaned outloud. He wasn't prone to verbalizing his frustration, but this was beyond annoying. From the corner of his eye, he could see Morse started shivering again.

He looked up to the opening, willing for Jakes to show. He'll be back soon.

 

 

 

 

 

Jakes stared down the well in disbelief. "I was only gone for _twenty minutes_."

"TOSS DOWN THE BLOODY LADDER!"

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago, but never developed it beyond what you see here. I think it's fine where it is.


End file.
